


Underground

by Effin4



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effin4/pseuds/Effin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John gets text messages from Sherlock, he assumes he's alive. But the fact that the texts weren't from Sherlock, doesn't mean he can't be alive. It just means that someone else is still alive too, and both are determinate to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sherlock-fic I've been writing together with a lovely person called Bethany. We've done parts in turns, and it's been great fun. It's long, so we've decided split it in chapters, even though it's already completed.

John. This might come as a shock, but... I'm alive. -SH

That's fine, take your time. I understand it's a difficult notion to process. -SH

Where are you? Who is this? JW

Come on, John, I thought that was obvious. It's me. I'm alive. Huzzah. -SH

Where. Are. You. JW

I can't tell you that. I promised Harriett I'd tell you I was alive, and so I have. But I can't tell you where I am or you'd do something foolish and get yourself killed. –SH

I'm going to look for you. And when I find you, I'm going to hit you so hard you wish you were dead. JW

I'd expect nothing less. –SH

How can you. Be Alive? I saw you jump. JW

Simple really. You only saw what I wanted you to see - why do you think I made you stay there? But that's not really the point of this. I need you to do something for me, John, something dangerous. –SH

Why should I do something for you? YOU LET ME BELIEVE YOU WERE DEAD. JW

If I hadn't jumped, then you wouldn't be here now, John. I couldn't let them do anything to you. I had to. And now you have to do this, or everything I've worked towards will be for nothing. –SH

...What is it? JW

I need you to get into Lestrade's office and take the files he has on that kidnapping that we worked on. He can't know I'm alive, so you'll have to be... discreet. –SH

Can't you just ask him? JW

Did you miss a part of the last text, John? He can't know I'm alive. No one can. I'm taking an incredible risk telling you, but I just couldn't do it alone. Trust me, I tried. –SH

Okay, I'll try. JW

I knew you would. Once you have them, give them to the Jeff, the homeless guy outside that Chinese place we like. –SH

Does he know you're alive? JW

No. But he knows what to do with it. –SH

You should probably also get rid of your SIM card now. They could trace these messages and then you won't be the only person to know my secret. –SH

You sure are expecting a lot. JW

When have I ever expected anything less? You must do this, John. Perhaps... perhaps we could meet up afterwards. –SH

I'll do this. How will I know if you get the files?

I'll get them. But... if you go to Jeff next week, he'll have something for you. –SH

Okay. I'm throwing my SIM card now. How will you find my new number? JW

Put it on your blog, it's what you normally do. I've noticed you haven't updated it in a while though. –SH

What is there to write? You're not here. JW

John did as Sherlock had told him, cut his SIM card in two, and threw it in a rubbish bin on his way to the police department. He figured he could hide behind asking Greg out for a pint.

He started to turn his lapels up against the cold wind but caught himself. No, that was what Sherlock did. After weeks of missing his friend, he had taken to adopting his mannerisms in an attempt to fill the gap. But he couldn't do it anymore. No, there was only one Sherlock Holmes. And he was back.

He let out a bark of laughter as the shocking relief bubbled up inside. He forced it down with several deep breaths - he was near the department and it wouldn't do to look too happy. Not when everyone thought Sherlock was still dead.

John went in the front door, almost crashing into Donovan. She cast him a look and he swore he saw pity in his eyes before she walked away fast. He went straight to Greg's office. Greg sat behind his desk, carefully reading what John figured had to be the kidnap file he had to give to Sherlock.

Greg looked up startled. "John, I... Bloody hell John, I'm glad to see you." He stood and got a good look at the doctor. The weeks of grief had obviously taken their toll. His face was gaunt and pale, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in days and his clothes were ruffled. Greg wasn't surprised at the state he was in - since Sherlock had jumped, no one had seen John for days.

"Hi, I'm glad to see you too! Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to go out for a pint... Tonight, or some other night." John added the last part with a bit insecure voice. He didn't dare to look the DI in the eyes, in case some of the relief from finding out Sherlock was alive was somewhere to be found in there.

The request shocked Greg - he hadn't pegged John for a 'drown-your-sorrows' type. But then again, grief did strange things to people. He looked at the clock. Still half an hour before I can officially clock off, he mused. But then again, who would really pull him up on it? John needed someone to talk to, that much was certain. If Greg could somehow help pull John out of his depression, he would do everything in his power to help. For Sherlock's sake. He smiled and grabbed his coat.

"Alright. Let's go."

John thought quickly. What could he do to make Greg leave the room for just a bit, so that he could take the file? "Uhm, but I think Donovan wanted to talk to you about something. She asked me to tell you to go down to her." Greg looked startled for a second, but nodded. "Okay, meet you down in the hall, then." Greg went out and headed for Donovan's office. John had a slight panic attack. He hadn't thought through what he would have to say when Donovan denied to ever have said that. He had no time to panic, however, and took the file and put it under his coat, leaving the office quickly.

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone to text Greg. "Sorry about this, but I've left my wallet at home. I'll meet you at the pub? -JW" He hoped that this wouldn't sound too feeble an excuse, but it was the only thing he could think of that would give him enough time to get the file to Jeff. He raced down the hall and out onto the busy London street, heading for the Chinese.

It didn't take him long to find Jeff, he'd seen Sherlock talking to him before. He still didn't look like much. John felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and read the short reply from Greg before walking all the way up to the homeless guy. "Okay, meet you there. GL" John decided it would be best if he just walked past Jeff fast, giving him the file without stopping, and that was exactly what he did. When Jeff, who seemed to have expected it, had taken the file, John went quickly home, just in case someone should be following him.

As the door closed behind him, John felt a shiver of adrenaline climb up his spine. He remembered this. He remembered how much he loved the espionage, the secrecy, the thrill of the chase just like how it always was when Sherlock was alive. Without him, John's life just didn't have any more spark and honestly... there were times when he felt like he would never live that way again. He smoothed his hand over his face as he realised that he would never again feel alive if Sherlock wasn't with him. It was as if he was only one half of a whole and now that Sherlock was back, John was complete.

He smiled and laughed, until tears fell from his eyes as he let the realisation hit him. Sherlock was back and within a week, John would have something of his and all would be well again. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath to sober up. He owed Lestrade a drink.

He went out again in the cold wind, but it didn't feel so bad. He wondered what he was going to say to Greg about Donovan. Luckily, the problem turned out to have solved itself. "Donovan had left when I came down to her. Probably wasn't anything important," Greg said, before pointing at the chair opposite him, and the beer that already stood there. "I ordered for you, hope you don't mind."

"Thanks. Listen, Greg, I... I'm sorry I-"

"No need to apologise, John. I know what he meant to you and I know you needed time. I'm just glad you're out of the flat now. Have you talked to anyone else since he... that day?"

John shook his head. He didn't really want to talk about Sherlock in case something would slip out, so he changed the subject. "How's work going? Any new cases?"

Greg looked like he was about to push the matter, but thought better of it. "Nothing much, just the usual stuff. The chief has everyone looking through the old files to see if it really was all... but that doesn't matter." He downed the rest of his pint and motioned to the bartender for another.

John didn't know what to say. Maybe going out with Greg had been a bad idea. He was so eager about knowing Sherlock was alive, and he couldn't think of anything else than what Jeff would have for him next week. Trying to not think so much, he downed his pint with Greg.

Greg shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with how the evening was going. He was never very good at talking to people that had just suffered from a loss like this. It was one of the things that made his job so difficult for him. Perhaps he shouldn't try to talk about Sherlock anymore - perhaps what John really needed was some normalcy, something to distract him from the gaping hole that Sherlock had left. "So... Manchester City won the cup. You watch it?"

John swallowed a laugh. Poor Greg, this wasn't any easier for him. "Yeah, great game," John said, who vaguely remembered watching something with a football in it. He emptied his second pint.

Greg was relieved that he finally had something to talk about and set off rambling about the machinations of the game. John tried to appear interested, nodding and giving the occasional 'yeah' whenever it was needed. His mind, however, was in turmoil, running through all the reasons that Sherlock might have needed to fake his own death and why he needed the kidnapping file.

After finishing his fifth pint, John realized he needed to go home. He could already feel he was affected by the alcohol, and it was better to finish now, before he said anything stupid. He got up from his chair, realizing he wasn't all that steady on his feet. "I think I'm going home now," he said.

He also wanted to go home and think about Sherlock, and about what was waiting on him. Next week was a long time.

Greg nodded blearily, standing up himself. "It were nice t'see ya, John," he slurred as he gathered his things. John clapped the DI on the back and watched him as he made his way to the door. He was sorry for the trouble that he had caused him, but it was for Sherlock and he knew that eventually Greg would understand. He always did. He took off walking towards the flat, barely able to contain his excitement. He didn't know how he was going to make it through the next few days, but what he did know was that the wait would be worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

After one of the longest weeks John had ever lived through, he woke up the day Sherlock had said Jeff would have something for him. He'd also put his new mobile number up on the blog, but hadn't heard anything. He was excited and a bit frightened, what if Sherlock hadn't gotten the file?

He tried to calm himself as he dressed and ate a small breakfast. He wondered how he would go about this - should he just ask Jeff if he had something for him, or should he give him a £50 note as he had once seen Sherlock do? As much as he wanted this, he knew he couldn't waste that much money on it. He had barely enough money to keep renting the flat, though he had a sneaking suspicion that Mycroft had been paying his way for a while. Mrs Hudson certainly hadn't asked for the rent recently... John sighed, trying to calm himself. He'd get to the Chinese first, and figure out what to do then.

He put his coat on, and went out. It was warmer than last week, but not much to speak of. He turned his lapels up without noticing it, and headed for the Chinese restaurant. Jeff was standing where he usually stood, looking much worse today than last week. It seemed like someone had given him quite a punch, he almost couldn't see with his left eye, it was all blue and swollen. John went up to him, trying not to seem to obvious, doing what he'd done last week, just passing by.

"Change, sir? Change for the homeless?"

John stopped and searched through his pockets, hoping that whatever happened to Jeff hadn't been becuase of Sherlock. He pulled out about a fivers worth of coins and let them fall slowly in to the cup that Jeff was holding out. "Thank you kindly, sir, thank you. It's a lovely day, isn't it? You might want to think about getting an ice-cream in Covent Garden, sir. I hear there's a van there at 12:30."

"Thank you, maybe, yeah," he muttered as his mind whirled. For a moment, John was nonplussed. This was what Sherlock was giving him? An ice-cream? Then it dawned on him... perhaps he could... perhaps Sherlock was going to meet with him! Grinning, he turned and hailed a taxi.

"Covent Garden," he said to the cab-driver. He tried not getting his hopes up, but it was really hard. He longed so much after seeing Sherlock again. "He can't be meeting you in person," John said to himself. "It's too dangerous, he wouldn't even let you keep your SIM card." But no matter how many times he told himself Sherlock wasn't going to show up, he couldn't help the big, warm ball inside his chest who seemed to ease him so much. The cab finally stopped outside Covent Garden, and John checked the time. It was 12.27.

He paid the cabbie and took off, searching for an ice-cream van. He was slightly late and he desperately hoped that Sherlock - or whoever would meet him here - hadn't left already. He stood, looking around him, peering at the faces of every person that passed him by, hoping against hope that he would spot the familiar blue scarf, long coat, or that mop of brown hair.  
"What a pleasant surprise, John. Fancy meeting you here." Whilst the voice John heard behind him was familier, it wasn't the one he was expecting. The vaguely Irish drawl sent icy chills up his spine.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were dead." As John said those words, he realized it was the second time. What would be the next? Would Elvis come in and announce that he neither was dead? John tried to joke it away in his head, but he still stood face to face with the most dangerous man he'd ever met, and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Moriarty sighed. "I have absolutely no idea what Sherlock sees in you, you're so droll, so... ordinary. Can't you think of something better to ask?" John shook his head as he thought furiously. If Moriarty's here, then that means that the homeless network that Sherlock employed must be compromised. Which could mean that the file John had stolen may not have gotten to Sherlock at all.

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked instead, hoping to get some information. It wasn't like he was going to do something to him out here, among all the people, was it? John shook his head silently. This was Moriarty; he did what he wanted wherever he wanted. He tried to stay calm. Panicking wouldn't help at all. He had to find a way to help Sherlock.

"Dead. In the ground. In heaven, with all of his angel friends, though probably in hell as he took his own life," he sneered back to John and it was like his words had torn down his whole world, all over again.

"What?" John could scarcely form the words. The roar of the crowd had quietened and all he could hear now was the beating of his heart as it thumped louder, quicker, louder, faster until it eclipsed all else. Vaguely, he was aware that his breath had hitched; he was hyperventilating.

Moriarty was talking again and he forced himself to listen over the sound of his world falling apart.

"Oh, he was never alive, John. I sent those texts," he laughed cruelly, "you sure are easy to fool, John."

"I don't believe you." John said. "He's still alive, I know it. You might have sent me those texts, but he's still alive." John tried not to look around himself for evidence. He wouldn't believe this one more time. Moriarty had said "what Sherlock sees in you", not what Sherlock 'saw'.

"The evidence speaks for itself, John. He's not here. I am." He moved closer to John, leaning in until his lips were close to his ear. John had the vague notion that this must be how a mouse felt in the grips of a deadly viper. "And trust me, honey, I'm the one you should be worried about."

"What are you planning to do to me?" John asked bluntly. He realized that he had nothing to lose, not as long as he didn't seem to have Sherlock after all. He just stared in to Jim's eyes with not even a hint of fear, something that seemed to rather amuse the man in front of him.

"Do with you?" He laughed as he drew slightly away from John, to look into his eyes. John lost himself in their depth and saw just how truly mad Moriarty was. "No, John. I think the real question is, what are you going to do for me?"

"What do you want me to do for you? I'm no use, you know. I've got nothing to lose. What makes you think I'll do what you want?" John's voice was tired, but cold and hard.

"Come now, John. You didn't think I'd come here without anything to barter with, did you? You do as I say and I'll... let Harry go." Moriarty seemed to relish the horror that dawned in John's eyes. His chest grew tight as he realised what had happened. Harriett was being held by this sociopath and he had almost no chance in getting her back by himself. Without Sherlock...

Moriarty cackled loudly as he saw the fight drain out of John.

"What do you want me to do?" He whispered, knowing that he had no choice.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell us what you think!


End file.
